


By the Common Room Fire

by JustAHobbit



Series: Fremione [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe- Fred Lives, And I cried for days about Fred when that book came out ten years ago, And also he ends up with Hermione, And in denial, Because I am bitter, Because I think those two make more sense together, Even though this takes place well before Deathly Hallows, F/M, Fred is dramatic when he's sick, He has a man cold, I made a reference to AVPM, So he's not dead, Still breathing and running WWW with George, There's literally no plot to this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 02:44:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12122802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAHobbit/pseuds/JustAHobbit
Summary: “What are you doing?”“Waiting for George."“I meant on my lap.”“Waiting for George,” Fred repeated.Fred is feeling sick. Hermione just wants to read her book.





	By the Common Room Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Brownie points to everyone who finds the AVPM reference

            Hermione felt the couch sink down next to her. A glance out of the corner of her eye told her it was a Weasley. When Hermione reached the end of the passage she finally looked up and rolled her eyes.

            “Testing out a new product again, Fred?” Hermione questioned. Fred was still in his pyjamas, a knitted blanket wrapped around him. His face was pale (honestly, Nearly Headless Nick had a better complexion) making his freckles and bright red hair stand out more than usual. Fred shivered, looking completely miserable.

            “I wish,” he groaned. “No, _this_ is real. Real pain in my arse.”

            Hermione frowned. “The cures for your snack boxes won’t work?” Fred groaned again.

            “No. The symptoms in our snack boxes aren’t real. They don’t cure real colds.” Fred picked up one of the throw pillows and began to fluff it up.

            “Hm,” Hermione said, turning back to her book. “I don’t know, that vomiting seemed rather real.” A pressure settled on her leg. Hermione looked down in surprise. “What are you doing?”

            Fred had rested the pillow against Hermione and then rested his head on top of that. He hitched the blanket higher. “Waiting for George,” he replied.

            “I meant on my lap.”

            “Waiting for George,” Fred repeated. “He said he’d be right back. He left me all alone in my death bed-”

            “I think you’re being a touch overdramatic.”

            “ _All alone,_ I tell you! So I thought I’d go and find him. But coming down the stairs made me dizzy so I had to stop for a minute-”

            “Are you positive you should be out of bed?” Hermione questioned, lowering her book.

            “Sh!” Fred implored. “I’m trying to tell a story. Where was I?”

            “You got dizzy from walking down the stairs,” Hermione reminded him.

            “Yes, that’s right. Then I saw you sitting by the fire and I thought ‘Hey! I’ll end my misery now and fall into the flames!’” Fred yawned. “But that fireplace is so far away. So I thought I’d just lay here with someone who will be so kind as to properly record the time of my death.”

            Hermione rolled her eyes, raising her book again. “Fred, you have a cold. You’re not dying.”

            “You can’t fool me, Granger,” Fred closed his eyes. “I’m a smart man. I know very well that I’m dying. Now, get out your quill and write this down: ‘Grand Duke Frederick Gideon Weasley-‘”

            “You’re not a duke,” Hermione reminded him.

            “No need to tell the Prophet that, love. I want the public to properly mourn my passing in the manner I see fit. Where was I? Ah, yes. _‘_ Frederick Gideon Weasley left this world on the third of October-’”

            “It’s the seventh.”

            “At least I got the month right. Are you getting all of this?”

            “I don’t have a quill on me.” Fred turned over in Hermione’s lap and cracked his eyes open to glare at the witch above him.

            “Then how are you supposed to properly record the time of my death? How will people know to stand for a moment of mischief in the future when they mourn the passing of their fallen emperor.”

            “I thought you were a duke?”

            “Same thing.”

            Hermione rolled her eyes. “I promise in the unlikely event of your tragic passing via _head cold,_ I will write a fitting eulogy for you. I’ll even spare a glance at my watch so I know the exact time you passed.” Fred nodded in assent and turned back to the fire.

            “How’d you know it was me?” he asked.

            “Hm?” Hermione said, distracted by her book.

            “You said ‘Fred.’ You knew I was Fred. You always know I’m Fred.”

            The fire felt rather warm all of the sudden. Hermione cleared her throat. “I’m observant.”

            Fred grunted at that. The two fell silent for a time.

            “Scratch my head?” Fred asked. Hermione lowered her book again and raised an eyebrow at her companion. His eyes were closed, so it was a futile effort, but Hermione liked to think Fred could _feel_ her look.

            “Come again?”

            Fred sighed. “Would you scratch my head? I can feel my life slipping away from me-”

            “You’re _not dying_ Fred Weasley-”

            “-and I came down here to seek out someone to be with me at my darkest hour-”

            “You said you came down here for George.”

            Fred turned his head and cracked an eye open to look at her. “You would deny me my last request of a head scratch? Way to kick a man when he’s down, Granger! You’re not thinking of being a healer, are you? Your bedside manner is deplorable.”

            Hermione rolled her eyes. “Why do you want your head scratched so much? Were you a cat in a previous life?”

            Fred shrugged. “Hard to say. Is that why I like tuna so much?”

            Hermione had to stifle a laugh. “If it means you’ll be quiet and I can go back to reading my book, I’ll scratch your damn head.”

            Fred cracked a smiled and closed his eyes again. Shaking her head, Hermione started to comb her fingers through Fred’s hair. The older Weasley practically _purred_ in response. Several people stopped and stared at the odd scene by the fire, to which Hermione would shake her head, roll her eyes, and mouth the words _“Don’t ask”_ to the inquiring looks.

            It was deceiving, Hermione thought, how peaceful Fred looked. He and George were always up to something, planning, _scheming_. Hermione suspected that if they fully turned their brain power towards schoolwork, they’d be her greatest academic rivals.

            The peace that Fred and Hermione had achieved was interrupted by a familiar voice.

            “What the _bloody hell_ is going on here?” Hermione jumped at Ron’s voice. She wasn’t expecting him and Harry to be back so soon. Fred made a rude gesture in the general direction of Ron’s voice.

            “Bugger off,” Fred muttered.

            “He’s sick,” Hermione explained. Ron looked as if he had swallowed a dirty sock. Harry rolled his eyes and sat down in the nearest armchair.

            “He’s been waiting for George.” Fred searched for Hermione’s hand and brought it back to his head. She took up the head scratching again, highly amused.

            “Yeah, I get that,” Ron said. “But what’s he doing in _your lap?_ ” Hermione was getting ready to retort when Fred spoke for her.

            “She’s doing _wonderful_ things to my head right now,” Fred said. He stretched and turned toward Hermione, burying his face in her stomach. “In fact, she’s so good with the head scratching, I think I’ll marry her.”

            Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes. “I think that’s the fever talking.”

            “No, it’s not,” Fred insisted. “I’m falling in love, falling in love, falling in love…” he sang. Mere moments later, Fred was asleep, breathing deep and heavily.

            “Harry?” Hermione said. “Would you mind getting the map and finding out where George is?”

            Harry nodded. “Sure. You worried something is holding him up?”

            Hermione winced and shook her head. “No. My leg is falling asleep.”


End file.
